Peeking out from a small window of opportunity.

With the first day of a new year, one gets a small window of opportunity to initiate a prefered way of being.  I am taking this small opening to assert my desire to continue a discovery of my own soul through the images I have collected over the years.  More often than not, the photos chose themselves, likely at the insistence of my soul which wanted its chance to be heard, seen and acknowledged.  I guess if there is such a thing as resolutions, this would be mine, to discover more of “self”.

Black and white? Really? Animate life versus Inanimate life.

I have altered this photo with the intention of adding a hint of green even though the original photo is a black and white photo.  The scene is in front of the Education building at the University of Saskatchewan.  It makes me think of how one must bend and twist in one’s life around the structures of society attempting to stay human in the process.

Time for a rest - University of Saskatchewan, May 1979

One day as I was walking towards the Fine Arts building through the commons area, I saw gloves and rakes laying on the grass next to this tree.  Since I was already en route to the lab to develop some photos, I thought why not take a few more and make the effort in the darkroom more productive.  Little did I know that the result would end up as one of the photos chosen for the Fine Arts College annual exhibition.

Antlers found on the forest floor not too far from the Beaver River, 1976

Sometimes you don’t have to shoot an animal to get a trophy.  This rack found while wandering various trails is an example of the treasures waiting in the forest.  The forest is a graveyard of skeletons and decay, as well as celebration of life found.  Again, a place of contrasts.

An old doctor's estate at Ile-a-la-Crosse, 1976

Time passes and some things are forgotten.  I realise that it is not too difficult to do research to fill in the missing gaps, but sometimes, it isn’t all that important.  I don’t know the name of the doctor who built the estate pictures above at Ile-a-la-Crosse.  For the purposes of this photo blog, it really isn’t all that important.  I didn’t know the man, nor was I interested in getting to know all that much about him. 

The countryside around la Crosse is incredible in its wildness.  Most of the village was not that far removed from its roots as a fur trading post.  This exception to the norm stands in sharp contrast, and as such reminds me of the sharp contrast between one’s inner self and the persona that one displays to the world.

Mr. Malboeuf, 1976, Ile-a-la-Crosse

While gathering local information in the spring of 1976 for the creation of a bicentennial history book for the community of Ile-a-la-Crosse, I was able to meet quite a few of the elders of the community.  All the elders had one thing in common, a pride in their community and in their people, the Métis.  Having taken a few classes in Cree, I was amazed at how much I actually understood when the elders spoke to me through my high school student interpreters.  Little did I know that the mitchif language was a blend of both French and Cree.  It was the French that allowed me to understand these seniors, not my meagre knowledge of Cree.

Métis Society building in Ile-a-la-Crosse, 1976

Two hundred years old, the community, even in its newest forms such as the Métis Society log building, keeps its remote in time and space appearance so that it is easy to call up stories of the old fur traders who build forts here and who passed by in their large canoes.

Wilfred Sewap, Sturgeon Landing, 1976

It is rare that I put up someone’s photo and identify that person here on the Internet.  However, I can safely assume that Wilfred is with his ancestors somewhere along the path of the Milky Way.  Wilfred was the caretaker of a school I was principal of in Sturgeon Landing in 1976.  We often talked and shared stories.  He was happy with gifts of blankets and peanut butter.  I found that in being friendly with this old timer, I got better caretaking service from him for the school, something that is critical if one wants to avoid many of the pitfals of school administration.   

In the fall of 1976, Wilfred decided to show me how to go fishing using snare wire in the shallow parts of the Sturgeon-Weir River that was only about fifty metres from our houses.  Wilfred lived next door to me in the village.  Humouring him, I watched and waited.  It didn’t take long for Wildred to catch two huge Northern Jacks, both over thirty pounds each.  Though I have tried since that lesson, I have never caught anything other than twigs and weeds using a snare.  But rabbits?  Well, that is another story completely.

Leaves against a cement wall.

 An assignment during the spring Fine Arts class had me go in search of subjects which defined the University of Saskatchewan.  After having spent the past four years living and teaching the northern wilds of Saskatchewan, I saw the university with different eyes, eyes that had matured since my previous time spent at the university.   I looked for natural life, but in juxtaposition with the harsh realities of an institution.

High and dry – A fishing boat that once helped those in the Métis community of Ile-a-la-Crosse make a living on the lake.

The forest is littered with the wrecks of the past.  When usefulness was gone, then an object was unceremoniously left in the fringes of the forest, out of the way, out of sight and out of mind.  Being focused on surviving the present was of greater concern.  Today, it isn’t much different.  Visit any community dump and you will find more of the same.  It’s all history.

Butterfly – Ile-a-la-Crosse June, 1976

Not all of the north can be considered wilderness.  While spending a week-end at a camping spot at a bay on the lake at Ile-a-la-Crosse, near the entrance into the Beaver River, we were able to enjoy a butterfly who took time to rest on our table and on nearby plants.  The aspect of gentleness and culture is evoked with the presence of a butterfly making one think of country gentlemen and their collections.  For us, it was enough to just watch the gentle flights and relax.

Tiger Lily - Saskatchewan, June, 1976